


2.29

by bonebo



Series: Kinktober '17 [29]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking, Gambling, M/M, Omorashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 02:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12571312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: 29. Omorashi |Dacryphilia (Crying) | Overstimulation





	2.29

Las Vegas is hotter than Jesse remembers.

They’re here on vacation--a reward, Gabriel said, for how hard they worked on their last mission, a treat after a job well done--and even though he’s called Blackwatch HQ home for over three years, Jesse can’t deny that it feels good, welcoming, to come back to the scorched sands and sun-baked ground he grew up on.

Not that they’re right there, right now.

No, right now Jesse is standing over a roulette table, with a chilled glass of bourbon in one hand and Gabriel’s fingers held in the other. He feels almost out of place here, in his suitjacket and his pressed slacks, but between the booze in his blood and Gabriel’s warm fingers in his grasp, the pile of chips that promise good payout by Gabriel on the table and the way his dark eyes crinkle a little as he smiles around his own glass of scotch, Jesse finds that he can’t really care. 

“You’re doin’ real good, sugar,” he murmurs, tucking himself up against Gabriel’s back and nuzzling at his neck, letting his breath wash over Gabriel’s ear and delighting in the way he shivers. “But don’t you think we should start heading back? It’s gettin’ late, and I gotta piss like a racehorse…”

Gabriel hums, setting another small stack of chips on the board--23 red, per his lover’s suggestion--and using his now-free arm to pull Jesse in by his waist, until they’re pressed together like two puzzle pieces.

“That sounds like a personal problem, Jessito.” He takes a slow sip of scotch, eyes looking past Jesse, locked on the wheel as it spins. “Because I’m hot right now, and you don’t leave the table when you’re hot.”

“You’re hot all the time,” Jesse grumbles, but can’t help his smile when Gabriel snorts in amusement. “But I’m serious, Gabe. I gotta piss.”

“I’m serious, too,” Gabriel says, and when his gaze cuts over to Jesse’s face his eyes are burning, intense in the way that Jesse has come to find synonymous with arousal. “I’m not leaving the table, and neither is my good luck charm. If you have to piss, then piss.”

Jesse tries to pull back, but finds himself stopped by the strong hold of Gabriel’s arm, keeping him pinned up against Gabriel’s hip. “Gabe--I can’t just--”

“You can,” Gabriel tells him, his voice nothing but a whisper in Jesse’s ear but somehow louder than the shout of the table manager as he announces Gabriel a winner, again. “And you will, because it’s what I want you to do.” He pauses, letting the statement linger in the air, in Jesse’s mind, before he adds, “I want to see you let go, right here, in front of everybody. Show them how filthy you are.”

And even if he didn’t feel full to bursting, even if the alcohol hadn’t lowered his inhibitions even more, Jesse thinks he would have obeyed; but as it is he’s helpless. He drops his head on Gabriel’s shoulder and lets his eyes flutter closed, biting his lip and clinging to Gabriel’s jacket as liquid heat rushes down his thighs, down his calves, soaking into his dark socks and cooling there. 

“Good boy,” Gabriel murmurs, gathering his chips from the table and starting to leave. “Good boy, Jessito.”


End file.
